


one last toast to has-been ghosts

by JackyM



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff without Plot, Food, Jon is a snob about classic English literature, Legendary Pranksters Sasha James & Tim Stoker, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28308186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyM/pseuds/JackyM
Summary: Tim and Sasha have a Christmas party for the archives staff, directly against Jon's wishes.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	one last toast to has-been ghosts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [logicalDemoness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/logicalDemoness/gifts).



> A fic I wrote as a Christmas present for a very dear friend of mine! I had a ton of fun writing this, Timsasha is SUCH a cute ship and their dynamic is so much fun to write!
> 
> I know the title seems a little gloomy but I promise I meant it more in the context of this fic fhghgh!

Sasha was painstakingly trying to put at least forty disorganized papers back in order. The problem with written statements, the entire archive staff had learned too quickly, was that none of them had numbered pages. Some of them looked as if they were numbered, once, but the numbers were blotted out or just torn away entirely. Which meant that Sasha had to read the statement _as_ she put it back together, like an extremely obtuse puzzle. And as much as Sasha loved her 700-piece jigsaws, trying to put together forty-something papers written by some verbosely spoken person who swore on their life they’d seen a ghost was nothing short of migraine-inducing. 

The sound of someone tapping on the desk was a welcome distraction from the mind-numbing thrall of old Victorian English. Sasha glanced up, brushing her hair away to see Tim leaning against her desk, not looking at her but smirking. Sasha knew that look. It was the look Tim made when he was plotting something. Sasha huffed a little laugh, poking Tim’s side from her desk with her index finger.

“What is it this time?”

Tim turned to look at her, his face a sincere mockery of surprise. “This time? Like I’ve got some record of getting up to no good?”

“A record is putting it lightly.”

“Yeah? How would you put it, then?”

“A gigantic, notorious reputation for getting up to no good.”

“Oh,” Tim put a hand over his heart, his face a mockery of having been insulted, “your words hurt me so. I’ve never done anything wrong in my life. Not once have I done something solely for the sake of ‘wasting important archival time’.”

“Jon told me to tell you to use a different flavor of Jello next time. One that isn’t citrus based.”

“Wow. Didn’t take him for a Jello fan. Makes sense he’d be a _picky_ Jello fan, though.”

“He isn’t, I don’t think. He just didn’t want to waste it. _But_ he told me to tell you he absolutely hates things that are lime flavored.”

“Noted. Cherry Jello for the boss man’s unused tapes from now on.”

“You’re the worst,” Sasha leaned back in her chair, “was there something you wanted? I’m trying to put this statement back together for Jon, and it doesn’t help that it’s both super old and full of old timey words _and_ hard to follow along.”

“There is something I wanted, actually. There’s this big holiday coming up soon, and Jon was _adamant_ that he didn’t us doing anything in the way of parties. Because, you know. He’s Jon, and boring, and hates fun like that’s also his job.”

“Yeah, I know. He sent about fifty emails telling us not to plan a Christmas party. I think maybe he was targeting somebody, but I can’t guess for the life of me who it might’ve been.”

“Martin. Obviously.”

“Ah,” Sasha smiled, “right. With the way he just _exudes_ Christmas cheer.”

“Listen, I don’t care _how_ many emails Jon sends out telling us not to do anything. We’re doing something. There’s only the four of us, it’s not like we’re in need of some huge Christmas party budget.”

“Can’t you just go to the one research is doing if you want to go to a Christmas office party? They still invited you to it, didn’t they?”

“Sure, I could. But I do also enjoy the presence of the people I work with down here, and would like to, you know, bond with you in a happy environment.”

“You know,” Sasha crossed her arms, “you aren’t going to look anywhere near as sexy in a Santa hat as you’re thinking. It’s just a hat. It doesn’t really change anything.”

“I enjoy the presence of the people I work with down here, and _tolerate_ the presence of you.”

“So you _were_ thinking it. Knew it.”

“It wasn’t totally off the table, no. Besides, nobody said I was wearing anything else with it.”

Sasha smirked. “Gross.”

“ _You’re_ gross, you brought it up. Totally brought it upon yourself. And that is _not_ why I’m suggesting we do this. Fun possible outcome, though. You all fawning over me because of how good I look in red.”

“God. I told you that _once_. You need to move on, Tim, it was once.”

“No can do, I’m afraid. Listen, are you in or not? There’s no way I’ll be able to convince Jon or Martin to get in on this. Jon because he’ll say we already bond too much. And Martin is pretty self-explanatory. I don’t want to be the sole provider of festive holiday cheer around here. And Jon really has trouble saying no to you.”

“Hmm.”

“What d’you mean, hmm?”

“I mean, hmm, Tim. It means I’m thinking, and considering my options?”

Tim huffed, giving Sasha a small side-eye. “Asking me to beg again?”

“Maybe,” Sasha replied with a small smile, avoiding direct eye contact.

“Sash, it’s Christmas.”

“Not for a week.”

“It’s the Christmas _season_.”

“I don’t make exceptions for holidays. _Or_ holiday seasons.”

“Listen, if you don’t want to do anything, that’s fine, I just thought--”

“No, I do! I think it’s a good idea, especially if it means we can drag Jon out of his office for more than a quarter of an hour. I just really like seeing you beg. Reminds me that you in fact can’t charm your way into getting people to play along with you.”

“Incorrect. I can charm my way into getting people to play along with me. Just not you. Or, maybe, including you, I just haven’t figured out how yet.”

“Rosewater gin.”

“You’re serious?”

“Well, it definitely wouldn’t deter me,” Sasha smiled, “Tim, I’ll never tell you what it takes to charm me into doing something. Not to you, anyways. I want to keep you guessing for as long as I possibly can. Now, on the knees. I want to really want to see you desperate.”

“Alright, _fine_ ,” Tim sighed and got down on one knee, “how’s this?”

“I said knees, plural.”

“You drive a hard bargain. You’re lucky I’m at my wits’ end,” Tim clasped his hands and looked up at Sasha from the floor, positively nailing a fake sense of urgency. “Sasha James, will you please aid me in throwing a Christmas party for the office because you are the only person I can ask for help from? Depend on, even?”

“Had no idea you were so helpless, Tim.”

“Helpless doesn’t even begin to describe it. I am coming to you on my hands and knees.”

“Actually, you’re just on your knees right now. But if you’re offering--”

“Figure of speech. Don’t push it.”

“Fine, fine,” Sasha laughed and waved a hand, “your pleas have not gone unheard. I’ll help you. It’ll be fun! We get to have an office party _and_ annoy Jon in the process. Maybe we can even invite him doing a little Christmas Carol bit. He _did_ reference it last April Fool’s Day. At that point it’s his fault for not preparing for this.”

“That’s absolutely brilliant,” said Tim, pulling himself up, “and I’ll ask research to borrow their decorations. See if we can have our party after theirs. God knows Jon works late enough it doesn’t matter what time of the week they have theirs.”

“Maybe we should surprise him. Just catch him at quarter past six or whenever he usually leaves and force him to stay with us.”

“Would he do that?”

“Worked for my birthday, didn’t it?”

“It did,” Tim clicked his tongue, “alright, alright. I maintain that we should try and ghost-of-Christmas-tenses him before we throw this party. His face during April Fool’s day was priceless. I know, I _know_ , he was trying not to laugh, even if he was giving us a hard time about wasting time. Don’t suppose we’ll get Martin to stand in for one of the ghosts?”

“Highly doubt it. He doesn’t seem a fan of method acting.”

“Ah, of course not. Fine, fine. God, he can be so boring sometimes. Two of the ghosts, then.”

* * *

Admittedly, Tim hadn’t meant to startle Martin as much as he had. He felt badly, making Martin jump and yelp a little “ _Jesus Christ, Tim_ ”. But Martin could also get startled _very_ easily, and it took an enormous amount of effort on Tim’s part to keep himself from laughing after pulling his hand away from Martin’s shoulder. Once he’d calmed down some, Martin turned away from his computer, trying his best to give Tim an angry Jon-style scowl that really only helped him look adorable. Tim tried not to smile too widely.

“Sorry, _sorry_ ,” said Tim, leaning back against the table, “didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“I didn’t! Though, in my defense, you can be _real_ jittery sometimes.”

“Jittery? Tim, that’s not fair, you know _most people_ knock before entering a room, right? You can’t tell me I’m the one who’s being too jittery when you just barge in unannounced.”

“I announce myself plenty.”

“But you don’t knock.”

“Really? Never knew you were supposed to knock on doors.”

“Yeah, but knocking goes a long way,” sighed Martin, giving up on his scowl and just looking at Tim tiredly.

A horrible grin spread across Tim’s face. “Sure does! Knocking some footwear, especially.”

Martin gave a little groan and rolled his eyes. “ _Tim!_ ”

“Fine, fine,” Tim raised up both his hands, “I’ll knock next time. Promise. Listen, I have a question for you. Sasha and I are working on throwing together a Christmas party for all of us down here. Figure we can do it pretty much whenever, so long as we grab Jon before he takes off an hour after work ends. You in?”

“Tim, I told you--”

“Yeah, I know you did. But that was before. Now you have to face the possibility of public backlash.”

“Public backlash? You said it was just you and Sasha.”

“Yeah. Public backlash. From me and Sasha.”

“I don’t think that’s what public backlash is...”

“It absolutely is, and you will face it if you don’t want to get involved in this.”

“I’m just pretty neutral on Christmas, that’s all.”

“Neutral on Christmas?” Tim glanced at Martin’s monitor, eyebrows raised. “You literally have a Google Image search open that says--”

“Hey, that’s--Tim, stop,” Martin leaned in front of his screen, blocking Tim’s view, “Tim, stop, that’s, like, a total breach of privacy, don’t look at my--”

Tim moved forwards and gently pushed away Martin’s hands, smiling. “--Google Image search that says, ‘spiders in Santa hats’.”

“Well, this is different,” mumbled Martin, crossing his arms, “I really like _spiders_. Even if I’m neutral on Christmas.”

“But you’re still looking at pictures of big hairy spiders in Santa hats.”

“It’s a _seasonally appropriate_ search, Tim! I just thought it would--well, I was thinking about them in little hats, and I just thought it’d be cute to see a tarantula in a Santa one, that’s all.” 

“And you can’t apply this sort of festivity in throwing a little office party together because--?”

“I wouldn’t want to spoil you.”

“Martin, this is _barely_ passing the holiday cheer threshold.”

“Then it’s at the very least _sufficient_! I don’t know why you need more from me. If you need more from me, that’s on you.”

“Jeez,” Tim leaned into the desk further and smiled, “you’re starting to sound like Jon, if Jon liked spiders.”

“Which he doesn’t,” Martin said with a frown, “you know he said that he’s glad it’s cold out now and the spiders are starting to go away? Said he was glad they’re all dead now, and I told him that’s not really what happens, it’s more that they just become less active and spend their time hiding in their webs. Some species of female spiders live several years, and they couldn’t do that if they all just _died_ every winter. Did you know a female giant house spider can make it to six years?”

“ _Six_ years?”

“Not _usually_ , those are just some observations.”

“Martin, you’re going to give him nightmares. He’s going to be up all night thinking about all the big lady spiders in his ceiling cracks. And the five billion spider babies she’s going to have.”

“They have forty to fifty spider babies.”

“Jon would think any amount of spider babies above zero is terrifying.”

“Fair.”

“So,” Tim strung out the o-sound, and tilted his head, “Martin’s help for this Christmas party. Yes or no?”

“I mean,” Martin shrugged, “if help’s all you need...I don’t know, yes? Sure? I--I don’t know how long I’ll actually stay, but--”

“Oh, no. That’s a dealbreaker. You need to stay.”

“Well, it’s just--I don’t know if I can.”

“Listen, it’s not going to be a lot of people, Martin. Just the four of us. We’re not trying to throw a huge party down here. Mostly we’re just stealing all of research’s leftovers the day after they have theirs, and having it whenever Jon decides to sod off for the evening.”

“You’re...really counting on him sticking around?”

“Can’t leave if we don’t let him.”

“Tim…” Martin’s face got gentle and pleading, his eyebrows knitting together, “if he really needs to go, you can’t make him stay.”

It never failed to baffle Tim how defensive and supportive Martin was of someone so perpetually irritable. He laughed and shook his head. “Look, if he has some big obligation we can’t make him stay, but I’m pretty sure most of his excuses are going to be bad ones. He has to get home and slip into his bedclothes before half past eight for a productive sleep, or something like that.”

“Maybe he just likes having a routine. I do.”

“I said or something _like that_. Besides, we won’t throw off a routine keeping him here for a little while after work.”

“I mean--you don’t know that.”

“Martin,” sighed Tim, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, okay,” Martin sighed and crossed his own arms, and managing a little smile, “ _fine_ , I’ll help, as long as you’re sure we won’t be bothering Jon too much. He’s...bothered enough as is.”

“Well, Sasha and I sort of planned on doing that anyways, but...uh-huh.”

“Of course,” Martin sighed, “did you need anything specific from me?”

“No, not really. Just your hands when we’re moving the stuff over from research. Maybe some cookies. Sasha’s bringing cupcakes. And as you know, I make the best Chelsea buns this side of the Thames.”

“You--sorry, you want me to make cookies?”

“Yeah,” Tim tilted his head, a smile creeping on his face as realization dawned on him, “oooh. You don’t know. Makes sense you don’t, I guess. Not like he’d tell you.”

“Don’t know…?”

“For Jon’s birthday. I swear, I have never seen him eat as much as he did once you were gone and he decided to look at the cookies you made him. Matter of seconds. I didn’t even know he could eat that much in one sitting, because he eats like a bird sometimes. Wouldn’t surprise me if one of these days he just sprouts wings and starts eating nothing but seeds. I always said he could go for a few cronuts, but I was just joking. I didn’t think he could handle one, but the way that he eats cookies? Totally blindsided me. ”

“He--I mean, he was probably just,” Martin flushed, looking away from Tim, “I don’t know, I, um...he--he liked them?”

“Judging by how he inhaled your choco chip bikkies? Yeah, I’d say he did. That’s why I’m telling you to bring them.”

“Well, I mean--yeah, okay,” Martin looked at Tim and smiled a little wider, “okay, then. Yeah, I’ll do that.”

“You’ll help?”

“I already said I would, but--yeah, yeah. I’ll help.”

“Wonderful.” Tim reached out to ruffle Martin’s hair, and was, as per usual, batted away in a matter of seconds. 

* * *

“So Martin’s on board?” Sasha leaned against the doorway, waiting for Tim to pack up so they could leave together. It was a little thing they did, whenever one of them didn’t have to leave late or early. Sometimes Martin would join them, usually when he was leaving at roughly the same time as Tim and Tim insisted they all walk out together. Martin wasn’t with them today, but Tim couldn’t help but notice how Martin seemed a little more upbeat after deciding to join the assistants’ impromptu party committee. 

“Yeah,” Tim shrugged into his coat, “didn’t take a lot of convincing once I said Jon would be there.”

“Ah, of course. Did research agree to let us borrow their decorations?”

“Sure did. Apparently they were going to ask around if any other departments wanted to use them anyways, so it works out. Guess Elias is coming down on people for using part of their budgets for party decorations and they didn’t want anyone else to get the old Bouchard email of responsible financial decisions.”

“Oh, yikes. Does Elias summon massive rainstorms when there’s a parade in town, too?” Sasha closed the door behind them, laughing and shaking her head at Tim, who’d already begun speedily walking away from her, backwards.

“Right? Like, it’s Christmas. If a whole department wants a party, let them have it.”

“Tim, slow down.”

“No idea what you’re on about.”

“I’m sure,” Sasha replied, giving a small laugh as she caught up to Tim and pinching one of his love handles, “you’re the worst. This is not walking me out.”

“Never claimed that’s what I was doing, Sash.”

“Oh, and here I was thinking you were trying to be a gentleman.”

“Nope, never. Far too my own man for that sort of thing. And I bet Elias is just trying to save as much money as he can for those benefactor outings he keeps talking about. That’s why he keeps slashing the party budgets.”

“Maybe. You know our paychecks aren’t seeing whatever money we save in not having parties.”

“Well and truly,” Tim held the door out of the archives open, “see? Here you go. Nice and gentlemanly. Just for you, Miss James.”

“The bare minimum, but, alright. Thank you so much for your very low effort.”

“How dare you. I am trying my hardest.”

“Get good, then.”

“No, actually, you’re the worst, I rescind my door opening,” said Tim, smiling. Sasha smiled back at him, and they let it last for a minute or so. It was an odd feeling. Not a bad one, though. More like a good feeling, one that was positive in a way neither of them could put their finger on. Or, maybe, they could put their finger on it, could put their fingers on it exactly and know full well what it was, but weren’t quite ready to face it yet. 

And that was fine, it really was. It was a cold and miserable walk to the station this time of the year, but chatting with each other on the way back helped take the edge off of it. Admittedly, Tim had to give it to Martin and Jon. Having a routine like this was nice. Tim liked not having to dread getting back to his flat anymore, at least, not the first half of it. Sasha was good company, and was more than willing to listen to Tim complain about old Victorian statements for the millionth time. And Tim was more than willing to listen to Sasha’s adventure in trying to put statements back together, including all of the flowery, disjointed ones from the nineteenth century. 

Tim tried not to miss Sasha too much when they finally parted ways to finish their second leg of the journey home. 

* * *

Jon’s office was firmly shut, the sound of him recording his statement muted by the heavy wooden door. Sasha and Tim were both pressed against it, waiting for Jon to finish recording. Martin had, predictably, declined to help them in pretending to be a ghost, and instead insisted on finishing setting up. 

“God,” mumbled Sasha, biting her inner lip, “he really does take forever debunking these statements, doesn’t he?”

“A whole hour talking about how someone didn’t actually see a ghost in their house! You know, if anyone’s guilty of ‘wasting archival time’, I really don’t think it’s us for having a Christmas party, don’t you?”

“Definitely not. I just hope he finishes up soon. It’s half past five. Usually by now I’m already mentally in my slippers. I have a pair here in the office. Maybe I should pop them on if we’re going to be here a while.”

“Like another three hours of just waiting for Jon to finish going ‘and here’s another reason ghosts totally aren’t real’?”

“Shh, don’t say that,” Sasha laughed, “he’ll hear you and keep going out of spite. Eventually it’ll get to a point where someone is going to have to give up, and I can’t go more than a day this time of year without a hot shower.”

“If he can hear us, then we might be sunk, because there’s no way he’ll come out if he knows there’s a Christmas party afoot.”

The sound of Jon talking behind the door had quieted, and became replaced with the sound of Jon shuffling about in his office. Sasha and Tim glanced at each other and nodded.

“Ghost robes?” Sasha grinned deviously.

“Ghost robes.” Tim matched Sasha’s deviousness. 

Sasha gave a little knock on the door, and Jon’s muffled “mhm?” was barely audible from the other side. “Jon?”

“Sasha?”

“Jon, Tim and I have a question, if that’s alright.”

“A question. You could have just emailed me if you had one, instead of sticking around here until after-hours.”

“It’s not really one we could convey over email.”

“I find that difficult to believe. Words generally do a good job describing things.”

“It’s only half past five, Jon, it’s not like we lost much time.”

“Fine, fine,” Jon’s tiredness was nearly palpable, even with the heavy door in between them, “come in, then, the both of you.”

Tim and Sasha entered wearing the ghost sheets, absolutely determined to get as much ghost-sheet mileage as they could get out of them. Jon looked at them with a face that wore so much malaise it was nothing short of priceless. 

“Good lord,” Jon gave an exasperated noise and covered his face, sinking into his chair,”You’re reusing the ghost sheets again. I don’t suppose I’m doomed to be visited by the three ghosts of Christmas?”

“No!” Tim didn’t need to see Sasha’s face to know how widely she was grinning now that she was beginning to wind up Jon, “still just two ghosts! The ghost of Christmas Past couldn’t make it today. Important ghost business to attend to. So you’re getting Present and Future, at the same time, to pick up all his ghost slack!”

Paying no notice to them, Jon began organizing his used and unused tapes, and setting his tape recording aside for the evening. “You should know, Scrooge was first visited by his former business partner, Jacob Marley, and not the ghost of Christmas Past.”

“Scrooge? Who said anything about Scrooge? He’d been dead for centuries!”

“I was under the impression you were attempting to convince me to garner more holiday cheer, lest I face the consequences in the afterlife as a ghost. Both of which I have made it quite clear I do not believe in.”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” said Tim, “I’m just telling you, as the Ghost of Christmas Present, that there’s a really fantastic Christmas party going on right now, and that you need to go to it. Witness how people are celebrating the holiday, and all of that.”

“But you will totally suffer consequences,” Sasha interjected, “not as a ghost, because people who don’t believe in ghosts don’t become ghosts. But I’m telling you as the Ghost of Christmas Future that you’ll really regret not going to this Christmas party.”

“The Ghost of Christmas Future was silent, if I recall,” was Jon’s wry reply. He piled his unfinished statements into a neat stack and looked over his office briefly for stray tapes and paper. It was a small, cramped room, with every shelf in it filled nearly to bursting with files and old books, but things still had a habit of getting lost in it, somehow. Jon must not have been prone to much claustrophobia. The tight quarters of the room and heavy wooden door would’ve made anyone with a mild fear of being stuck a little nervous. Jon was beginning to put some unread statements into his shoulder bag. 

Sasha rolled her eyes at Jon, almost exaggerated by the ghost sheet. “Not these days! I’m as chatty as can be now. Turns out my modern audience doesn’t appreciate all the silent pointing. Don’t really get the message. They keep squinting at the gravestones with their names going ‘huh, whose this belong to?’”

“I see. That must be very difficult for you.”

“You have no idea! And it’ll be difficult for you, too, if you don’t come to this party.”

“This party that’s happening right now,” said Tim, “like, at this very second. You know, there’s some pretty handsome people there too, I heard.”

Sasha gently batted at Tim’s arm, and Tim gently batted at hers. Sasha then batted back at Tim’s, and this continued for a moment or so before Jon sighed and pushed in his chair, grabbing his coat and shoulder bag. Tim and Sasha quickly blockaded it, which wasn’t difficult, because the room was small, and Jon was even smaller. Jon glowered up at Tim, and Tim made no indication that this had any effect on him.

“Tim,” Jon’s face did not soften, “out of the way. I’d like to leave for the day.”

“Nope. You’re not leaving. Not unless you are leaving this office, and going to the Christmas party we’re having.”

“We? I was under the impression you were a ghost, uninvolved with any of my assistants.”

“Oh, no, see, as the Ghost of Christmas Present, all ongoing parties involve me. It’s an implicit thing. I have no idea who Tim is.”

“I see. How negligent of me to not see that bit of canon in Dickens’ original work.”

“It’s in the footnotes. A lot of people miss it.”

“I’ll have to go verify that. At home.”

“Oh, come on, boss,” Tim pushed his weight against the door, “it wouldn’t kill you to stick around for a little bit.”

“Again,” Jon sighed and tried pushing past Tim, “I was under the impression that you are not involved in this workplace whatsoever. Since you claim to be a ghost.”

“You’re clearly the boss of this department.”

“And boss is a thing people just call other people,” chimed in Sasha, “a cool thing cool people call other cool people.”

“Don’t flatter him, it’ll go right to his head,” said Tim, effortlessly pushing Jon away from him.

“It’ll go to yours just as quickly,” said Jon, quickly giving up his fruitless endeavor as Tim was almost overbearingly stronger than him, “if I indulge you and attend this party for a moment, will you give up on trapping me in my office?”

“You can’t just attend for a moment!” Sasha raised her arms under the ghost sheet. “You need to attend for at least an hour. You _will_ attend for at least an hour. This is a department wide party!”

“There’s only four of us.”

“Which is exactly why you need to be here. Four is like, the bare minimum for a party.”

“I wasn’t aware you were also the Ghost of Christmas Parties.”

“I contain multitudes.”

“Fine,” Jon sighed, sighing long-sufferingly and stepping back into his office, “ _fine_. As long as this is the extent to which you’ll waste our department’s time and budget for the holidays. I don’t want to see anything else for the rest of the year.”

“No worries there, boss,” said Tim, pulling his ghost sheet off, “we’re borrowing the decorations from research. They had theirs yesterday. Couldn’t do it today because of that ethical research practices thing for the new staff.”

“They’re doing it on a Friday this year? That’s...odd. Generally it’s done in the middle of the week.” Jon looked up at Tim, holding the door open for him. 

“Yeah,” Tim shrugged, “no clue why it’s on a Friday this year. Schedules, I guess.”

“To stop people from having Christmas parties. I mean, you can’t have the party you’d have on a Friday on a Thursday. Research got hit first,” said Sasha, wrapping her ghost sheet around her arm and closing the door to Jon’s office. 

Tim gave a little laugh. “ _No_ , you really think so?”

“I don’t know,” Sasha poked Tim in the belly, “but I knew that _you_ would, with your love of workplace conspiracies and everything.”

“How dare you make fun of my very serious theories about how this place is operated! Jon, fire for her for getting in the way of incredibly important research.”

“I will do no such thing if I want to keep this a productive workspace. Especially given Sasha’s...normal amount of dedication.”

“Aww, Jon, don’t stop!”

“Boo,” Tim held open the door of the break room, letting Jon in, but not Sasha. He smirked at Sasha, blocking the doorway with his frame. Sasha raised an eyebrow, interested and amused.

“What happened to being gentlemanly?”

“Gave up on that. Beauty before age. You’re going in last.”

“Oh, shut _up_ ,” Sasha chuckled and ducked under one of Tim’s arms.

Tim slid out of the way, and let the break room door close behind them. “What! You’re like, way older than me, Sash. Practically a granny.”

“I am _eight months_ older than you. That’s nothing. If I’m a granny, what’s that make you?”

“A _really handsome_ grandfather, one that is totally out of your league, if you really want to go down that route.”

“God, you,” Sasha sighed and nudged Tim a little, “what am I going to do with you?”

“Pine over me restlessly for ages,” Tim winked, and Sasha gave a little groan.

“Sure. There’s an idea.”

Research didn’t actually have that many decorations, but they had enough to get the message across. A few fake garlands and fairy lights went a long way. As soon as Jon came in, Martin immediately stopped writing whatever he’d been writing down in a little composition notebook, and got up to ask him how he’d been feeling, if his joints hurt at all, and if he was keeping warm in his office, because it got awfully cold in there and cold temperatures had a way of making joint pain worse. Jon was dismissive, as per usual, telling Martin it was none of his business how his joints felt. But the way that he gravitated towards Martin’s cookies was enough to keep Martin hovering. It was cute, really. Sasha couldn’t help but smile at it. 

“Here’s the thing,” said Tim, who had a habit of interrupting Sasha’s thinking, “I know that we’re not supposed to bring any alcohol to these things, _but,_ we managed to get a bottle of wine to Jon’s birthday party. So, I figured--”

“Timothy!” Sasha quickly turned to face Tim, eyebrows raised in mock consternation, “I can’t believe you! On Christmas, no less!”

“It’s just some cheap wine research couldn’t use. There’s some real sticklers up there who wouldn’t drink on a weekday. Plus, it’s after five. Jon can’t use that excuse this time.”

“I can however use the excuse that we’re at our workplace,” called Jon from the table, where he was across from Martin. 

“Yeah, and it’s not working hours.”

“But he’s got a point,” said Martin, “I mean, if someone came down here and saw that we had liquor--”

“ _Elias_ came down when we had liquor,” Tim interrupted, “and nothing happened. I think we’ll be fine.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up yet,” said Sasha, “usually he comes in as soon as his name is mentioned, like he can just sense it or something.”

“Probably because we don’t actually have a cake here,” Tim replied, “so no need for him to show up and take like, a quarter of it. God. That is especially rude considering how much he hates any time or money going into parties and has not once put money into a cake fund.”

There was a unanimous agreement to this statement, and then a less unanimous agreement to Tim’s statement a moment later that everyone have some wine to get into the holiday spirit. 

“I mean, tannins--”

“Martin,” said Jon, sighing, “we’ve been over this. Tea also has tannins.”

“Right, but, not as _many_.”

“Martin, you’re just coming up with bad excuses,” said Tim, already pouring himself some wine into a mug.

“Tim,” Martin leaned forwards in his chair, “if you get trace amounts of wine in our mugs--”

“I’m cleaning them afterwards, Martin. Relax.”

“Right, but there’s no way you can possibly get all of the alcohol off!”

“I can, by cleaning them.”

“You don’t know if that will get everything off!”

“If it’s a problem, we just won’t use yours or Jon’s mugs,” said Sasha, “I don’t mind trace amounts of wine on my mugs. And neither does Tim, from the looks of it.”

“Don’t mind one bit. Nothing like a little bit of wine at nine in the morning! Fairly certain James William Buffett said that, actually.”

“Tim,” said Jon, narrowing his eyes, “I am right here.”

“Yes, and?”

“I am your direct supervisor and can put in a request to fire you.”

“Wow! Gee, boss, I had no idea! You learn something new every day!”

Jon sighed, and was rewarded with a playful clap on the back from Tim, making Jon groan and cover his face with one of his hands. 

* * *

In the end everyone had a drink, once Jon and Martin were convinced having a drink wasn’t a horrifically inappropriate thing to do during an office party, that was not occurring during the workday and also wasn’t even funded by the institute. 

As it turned out, once they loosened up a bit, Jon and Martin were both far more willing to participate in singing along to incredibly overrated Christmas songs. Martin especially was very enthusiastic about singing Wham!’s Last Christmas, despite how adamant he was about being neutral towards Christmas. It was pretty incredible, actually, given how quiet Martin normally was and how he almost exclusively seemed to listen to lo-fi. Jon had also loosened up just enough to glance at Martin’s phone when Martin showed him several photos he’d saved of tarantulas wearing little Santa hats ( _“yes, Martin, yes, very important to the ecosystem, please stop showing me this”_ ). Not to mention, introducing Jon to all of I Am Become Christmas in a single sitting was absolutely worth it. Jon’s face as CryptoSanta progressed was a gift in and of itself. Jon’s final verdict for the album was “catchy and concerning”.

Sasha and Tim snuck off to the roof, leaving Jon and Martin downstairs in the break room. The two of them had fallen asleep. Jon first, because he was clearly a lightweight and didn’t sleep much and had dozed off while sitting next to Martin. Martin, flustered to the point of swooning, made no attempt to get Jon’s head off of his shoulder, instead taking the initiative to try and take a nap himself, ignoring all of Tim’s requests to pull Jon into his lap or carry him bridal style to his cot. It was sweet, seeing the two of them asleep on the break room couch together. Jon looked relaxed in a way Tim didn’t think was possible, and Martin seemed comfortable in a way that Sasha had never seen him before. 

By the time they were both ready to go up to the top of the roof, Jon had his face buried in Martin’s chest and one of Martin’s arms was slung around Jon. Tim was moments away from taking a few photos before Sasha dragged him up to the roof. 

It was cold up on the roof, but neither Tim nor Sasha felt bothered by it. They’d come up here, alone or together. Where they both went, alone together. It was hardly a nice view, the city lights of London jarring and smoggy. But it didn’t need to be a nice view, not when it was about familiarity. What made it right was how terrible the view was, how it was an odd simultaneous mix of loud and quiet, how there were zero decent places to actually sit down. 

They made do, though. Sasha leaned into Tim a little, and Tim leaned back into her. For warmth. Totally for warmth. It was freezing up here. 

“This was a great idea,” said Sasha, her shivering almost audible, “I had a really nice time. Never knew Martin had that sort of singing in him. Also never knew Jon was so passionate about trivia games. I mean, woah, his opinions.”

“He’s really got some strong ones, yeah. But to be fair. You aren’t much better.”

“Hey, some trivia games are really terrible.”

“Terrible how? They’re trivia games. They’re all terrible unless you’re boring and into that sort of stuff.”

“I am not boring,” Sasha elbowed Tim, “but I am, however, freezing.”

“This is nothing. I could go for a jog in this. Not even a little cold right now.”

“Yeah? Then be my radiator, fit guy.”

“You know what? Sure.” Tim reached out an arm and pulled Sasha a little closer, but giving her space to move if she wanted to. Sasha did not move away, and only leaned into Tim further, resting her head against his chest. She had to admit, Tim was _incredibly_ warm. A radiator was an apt description. Warm, solid, strong. But soft, too, and big in a way that made all his other features stand out, too. Sasha sighed, leaning into Tim a little more, head on his chest and hand on his belly. She felt one of Tim’s hands drift up to hers, lacing their fingers together. 

How long they stayed like that, they weren’t sure. For some unsure stretch of time, they didn’t notice the cold, the dark, or the glaring lights. They just felt comfortable, and weren’t in a rush to end this feeling. 

“You’re welcome,” said Tim, finally breaking the silence.

“Hm?”

“For having the brilliant idea to have a party and not needing anyone else’s helping in planning it. Doing it all by myself.” Tim gently squeezed Sasha’s hand. Gently. Shyly. A question. 

Sasha squeezed Tim’s hand back, just as gently, just as shyly. An answer. Their fingers curled together again. 

“Thanks for totally not being the person who helped me throw a really great Christmas party, Sasha.”

Sasha chuckled. “You’re welcome. I’d kick you off the roof if I wasn’t so damn comfortable.”


End file.
